


Bullets

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another day at work for the lads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullets

Such a little thing to do so much damage, a 9mm parabellum, but damage they did. Bodie could feel the path it had taken, from one side of his leg, through flesh and god knew what else, and out the other. He'd managed to tie it up, padding it on both sides, cloth torn from his shirt, the sleeves wound around to hold it all together. His favourite shirt. Ruined now, all that blood, seeping out of him, into it, coating the fibres, wasted on them.

He felt tired, knew it was the blood leaving him, leaving him for the shirt...

Doyle hated that shirt. Doyle'd be here soon. Very soon. He'd been counting gunshots as he lay there in the mud, and McMillan only had one left. Just one. Doyle had a spare clip somewhere on him, because he'd only just finished his first before Bodie'd been hit, and Doyle always had at least two extra, they both did. 

Yeah, Doyle'd be here soon, to stop the blood.

Didn't know where everyone else was, and of course he'd dropped his RT somewhere. That was okay, Doyle'd call it in as soon as he had a chance. He'd seen Bodie go down, had roared his name over the crash and ping of bullets from McMillan's gun as they shot out, as they ricocheted to and from the solid iron struts and girders of the factory. Doyle shouldn't shout like that though, even if Bodie _had_ been hit, had been twisted backwards by it, at least safely behind the machinery, for now.

It would take a long time for him to die, and Doyle would get to him before then. Nothing he could do until then, not with it making him so groggy like this. _Pull yourself together, man!_

No, Doyle shouldn't shout like that. What if McMillan heard him? He had to keep quiet too, though McMillan probably thought he was dead already. Shame he'd dropped his gun when he fell, it was the wrong side of the - what _was_ he lying behind, anyway? - and it'd be madness to try and get to it without knowing where McMillan was.

Even as he thought it, another shot rang out, then two more in rapid succession, somewhere up above him now - they were on the next floor then. Doyle's gun that'd been. 

Doyle'd taken a bullet like this once, years ago, and he'd survived perfectly well. The old man'd been shot in the leg too, but not the same way he and Doyle'd been shot in the leg, in one side and out the other, nice and clean. No, Cowley's bullet had stuck inside him, had wedged its way into bone and stayed there, until he finally took the risk of letting them operate. And even _he_ was fine now, walking as if it'd never been there.

Yeah, it was just a bullet, even if it had spun a path of fire through him, left the flames licking their way into his blood.

Good job it hadn't been a dum-dum, mind, that would've made a hell of a mess. Maybe Doyle was right, maybe dum-dum's weren't such a good idea. The Yanks used them all the time, mind, so did estate managers and... yeah, he bet Paul Cougan'd had his firearms certificate beefed up with it, to keep all those nasty deer at bay... Bastard. They'd get him one of these days. _He'd_ get him one of these days, for what he'd nearly done to Doyle.

Yeah, Doyle'd come, like a bullet straight through Bodie's heart, he'd come running any minute now, roaring Bodie's name...

Bodie froze, eyes wide, staring at the rivets on the black iron in front of him. Where had that come from? Doyle in his heart? Doyle wasn't anywhere near his heart, Doyle was a mate, he was...

He was coming now for Bodie, Bodie heard his shout in the distance, just as he'd expected, coming to find Bodie and to... to what? Well, they always found each other, didn't they, that was what they did. It was just... expected. Natural. Something that had...

Doyle's voice again, though Bodie was too tired now to shout back, he found he could barely make a croak, and he was starting to get cold. But Doyle would come, he was coming.

Nah. Doyle'd been there for a long time, forever it felt like, lodged in his heart, spreading out, blossoming into his blood and his bones and his _life_.

A darkness fell over his eyes, even though he knew his eyes were still open, because he could see Doyle's face above him now, full of concern, full of anger and concern for him, and he knew that it was just Doyle's shadow covering him, warming him just by being there.

He felt his lips stretch in a smile, felt himself start to laugh, to laugh up at Doyle, even as rough hands turned his leg this way and that, and it _hurt_.

"Bodie?" Doyle's voice again, hands on his face now, running his fingers over Bodie's skull, and that felt good as well. "Bodie, are you alright? You hit your head?"

"Dum-dum..."

Doyle's hands stilled, he frowned down at him then, and Bodie stopped laughing, managed to stretch up his own hand, to brush Doyle's cheek with it, lightly, quickly. "Dum-dum," he said again, happily, just before the world faded to brown, and then to black.

 

_February 2008_


End file.
